IV
A week later Fanny's daughter entered the bedroom which she shared with her mother.
From the girl's babyhood the mother had had her small white-curtained couch placed close beside her own. She could not have slept unless able at any moment to stretch out her hand and touch her sleeping child.
Fanny was in the dressing-room; hearing Eva's step, she spoke. "Do you want me, Eva?"
"Yes, please."
Fanny appeared, a vision of white arms, lace, and embroidery.
"I thought that Rosine would not be here yet," said Eva. Rosine was their maid; her principal occupation was the elaborate arrangement of Fanny's brown hair.
"No, she isn't there—if you mean in the dressing-room," answered Fanny, nodding her head towards the open door.
"I wanted to see you alone, mamma, for a moment. I wanted to tell you that I shall not marry Pierre."
Fanny, who had sunk into an easy-chair, at these words sprang up. "What is the matter? Are you ill?"